Let's start from the end and end from the start
by CountryGirl914
Summary: Rachel laughs and laughs and laughs, and the gleeks are so very confused." Rachel always knew this would happen. Sort of.


**A/N:** There are so many other things I should be doing, like sleep, or, you know, _work on my thesis_, but if I didn't get at least one of my Glee stories out of my head, I was going to explode.

The order of this one is a little...different, because I was trying to be ~artistic~. Let me know if it worked.

As always, not beta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy!

**Feedback:** Is love. Please review!

* * *

Everyone from Glee comes to Puck and Rachel's wedding. There is singing, and dancing, and Puck must have mellowed Rachel out because when things don't go perfectly she just smiles and lets it go.

They're walking into the reception when Rachel stops halfway to the head table, frozen in place. There, on her place setting, are a delicate tiara and a small crystal ball.

She turns to her new husband, eyes wide and smile delighted. "You remembered?" she breathes.

"Yeah," Puck says, kissing her temple. He smirks. "Next time, how about some lottery numbers?"

Rachel laughs and laughs and laughs, and the gleeks are so very confused.

* * *

"You have got to be fucking shitting me," Puck says, staring at the tiny brunette he has just literally bumped into.

"I see that your language is as foul as ever, Noah," Rachel replies, but her smile takes the bite out of her words. "You can't be too surprised, though. You knew that I was in the latest production of Wicked, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah, I knew you were still in New York City, but I wasn't expecting to, like, run into you in the neighborhood coffee shop."

Rachel's mind seizes on the word "neighborhood." "So you're living here now?"

"Yeah," he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. "I screwed around in Lima for a while after I graduated, then decided to try my luck in the Big Apple. Just got here yesterday."

"Well, luckily for you I also live in this part of the city, and have for several years. I can show you around, sometime, if you're not busy." The weather. It's the weather, the cold wind blowing outside, that has brought this heat to her cheeks. It has to be.

"Now's good," Noah says softly, and when he takes her hand she attributes the shock she feels to static electricity, charge built up from hats and mittens and scarves. She's too old for fantasy.

But the eight year old inside her crosses her fingers and hopes.

* * *

Technology becomes a godsend when they leave high school. Their various pursuits have flung them across the country, from coast to coast. Kurt is in New York with her and she barely even gets to spend any time with him—the others are near impossibilities. But calls and texts and emails and messages keep the group close, twelve people separated only by the speed of an internet connection.

It is in this spirit that Rachel, high on a flurry of auditions after graduation, checks Facebook at the end of a long day. One status in particular catches her eye.

_Noah Puckerman_, it reads, _is ready for a change_.

She spends the better part of half an hour typing out her response, delving deeply into the philosophical meaning of change, and the myriad of paths his life could take. The arrow on the screen is hovering over the Comment button when she realizes who she's talking to.

The lengthy missive is deleted in an instant.

_Whatever you end up doing, it'll be the right decision for you_, her new message reads. _Good luck, Noah._

* * *

Rachel is the first member of New Directions to complete the college admissions process—Juilliard, of course. Early Admission. The others trickle in after her, slowly but surely. Mike and Brittany are going to a dance school out in California. Artie will be studying engineering at Purdue, and Tina's headed to Chicago. Kurt's joining her in New York—FIT—and is already planning the adventures they will have, when their classes aren't driving them crazy. Finn and Quinn have both been accepted to the University of Cincinnati—and she's okay with that. She's finally stopped planning her future around other people. Pretty soon everyone's plans are set.

Everyone, that is, except Puck.

She wants to ask him what he's doing—fairly _vibrates_ with it—but manages to restrain herself. She knows how Noah Puckerman ticks, knows that nagging will only lead to frustration and misplaced anger. She _knows_…

But oh, _God_, she wants to know. Nothing's wrong with staying in Lima, but he's capable of so much more than that, she's sure of it.

It's the last day of spring break and Rachel is checking her backpack one last time when there's a thudding knock on her door. She opens it to reveal Puck, who is panting as if he'd just sprinted all the way from his house, instead of just the distance from his truck to her front door. She's about to ask him what in the world is going on, but before she can even open her mouth he's thrusting a piece of paper in her face.

The name at the top is the first thing that catches her eye.

_Ohio State University_.

She looks down.

_Mr. Puckerman,_

_Congratulations! We are happy to welcome you…_

And then she can't read any more, because her vision is getting blurry.

She throws her arms around his neck and holds on as he crushes her against his chest and lifts her off the ground. It takes a moment before she can turn her face towards his ear.

"I am _so_ proud of you."

When he finally lets her down, he has a smile on his face bigger than she's ever seen before. "I didn't want to tell you until I knew, in case I didn't get in."

She smiles back at him. "Noah, I would have been proud of you either way."

His eyes are glassy too, but she doesn't mention it.

* * *

SATs are tomorrow, and they're all in Kurt's basement, cramming in one more study session before the big day. Santana is working through a math problem with Mercedes when Puck throws down his notebook and leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes as he groans. "I am so fucking tired of this shit. Can we take a break now? My brain is about to ooze out of my ears."

Rachel doesn't even look up from the grammar exercise she's going over with Tina. "Noah, we all agreed we'd take hourly breaks. I wanted each study period to be two hours, but I compromised specifically because you said you wouldn't be able to last that long. The setup has been working quite well so far, if I do say so myself, and it is only fifteen minutes until our next scheduled break. I'm sure a even a teenage boy with a limited attention span such as yourself can last that long. Please start working again."

Matt, Mike, and Finn watch in amazement as Puck glares at Rachel, but picks up his notebook and goes back to his trigonometry notes. They've known the other boy since elementary school, and Puck is the _king_ of whining and procrastination. He never goes down without a fight.

"How did you do that?" Matt wonders in awe.

"She knows my mom," Puck grumbles.

Across the room, Rachel's mouth quirks up in a smile. "The guilt of a Jewish mother is an amazing thing."

* * *

The delivery is done, the baby has been fussed over, and now they're all in Quinn's room, keeping her company as she rests. They have to be breaking a million fire safety rules, packed into the small space like they are, but apparently the doctors and nurses don't want to deal with a dozen teenagers at once. So it's understandable that it takes a while before Rachel notices that someone is missing.

"Where's Noah?"

There's silence as everyone looks around the room, the realization hitting them as well. Quinn's forehead scrunches in thought as Finn rubs her back, and _oh_, try as she might it still makes her heart ache just a little bit that he's forgiven the Cheerio so quickly.

"He was here when we gave Beth to Mark and Ashley," the blonde says, referencing the baby and her adoptive parents, "but I haven't seen him since then."

The others return to their conversations, but Rachel is too distracted by this development and excuses herself, walking out into the hallway. She calls Noah's cell but he doesn't answer and she stands there for a moment, flummoxed. Where in the world could he be?

A search of the hospital comes up empty, so she heads out to her car and drives aimlessly around Lima for a while until the light bulb goes off.

Thirty minutes later she's walking across McKinley's football field to the figure slouched down on the bleachers. There's a bottle of Jack Daniels by his feet, but it's unopened. She takes a seat—beside him, this time, not behind him—and waits.

"Mark and Ashley are good people," he says suddenly, and she nods.

"They seem like a wonderful couple."

"We did the right thing. Made the right decision." His voice is rough.

She doesn't touch him. "I would say so."

He looks into the distance, blinking furiously. "I miss her already."

She swallows, and tries to say something, anything, but there's not really a right answer to that, so she just leans over and brushes her shoulder against his, sharing warmth in the cool spring air and wondering when she became so close to this boy.

They can't be friends, can they? Noah Puckerman isn't known for being _just friends_ with girls, and he's still an ass half the time. But after the paternity secret came out she was the only one that would talk to him for a while, and it's like they fell into a habit or something that she can't quite explain. Friendly acquaintances, maybe.

But acquaintances don't talk about their lives. They don't eat dinner at each other's houses or talk on the phone or play with their kid sisters or lecture them about their schoolwork (her) or give them advice on how to act normal (him) or a million different other things. They don't make each other cry. Or laugh. Or smile. Friends do that.

Some would say best friends do that.

But she's not one of those people, so they just sit in silence and watch the sun set over the horizon. The field lights aren't on, allowing the stars to be visible, thousands of pinpricks of light in the darkness, so they watch them too.

It's close to midnight when she stands up and gently takes his hand, leading him to the parking lot and driving him home.

They can get his truck in the morning.

* * *

She marvels, as she rinses corn syrup and ice out of Noah's hair, at the changes a few days can bring. Even after he joined Glee Noah was still a boorish jock most of the time. But now, as she sits on his lap and he speaks so softly to her…she can almost see that fuzzy future again.

She still breaks up with him, though, even after he quits football for Glee, because Finn has caught her eye. The handsome star quarterback and the beautiful young ingénue is a romantic movie staple, and Hollywood is so much better than fairytales, anyway.

Of course, the good girl and the bad boy is just as much of a movie trope, if not more, but she's not thinking about that.

* * *

She would know that head anywhere, even now that he's sporting that God-awful Mohawk.

"Noah!"

It's the first day of freshman year and she's just spotted Noah Puckerman in the halls before first period. They haven't conversed much in the years that they've known each other—they went to different elementary and middle schools, and Noah avoids her at temple and the JCC, no matter her numerous attempts at conversation, which is actually quite annoying—but that's going to change now. They're at the same high school, in the same building for a large portion of each day; they'll probably even have some of the same classes. There's no way he can ignore her now, and everything is going to work out the way she knew it would.

"Noah! Noah, I—"

Cold. Icy, sweet, frigid cold so shocking that she literally takes a step back, completely and utterly confused. It's only after she wipes her eyes that she can see the—now empty—slushie cup in Noah's hand. He's smirking, and everyone in the hallway is laughing, but she just squares her shoulders as she marches to the girls' restroom. It will take more than that before she gives up. Rachel Barbara Berry perseveres.

When Noah slushies her four more times that first week—a different color every day—she finally gives up on her fantasy.

* * *

Abigail Puckerman is having a no good, awful, horrible, very bad day.

She finally stood up to her sorry excuse for a husband and now he's gone, leaving her a single parent twice over, to the little boy she already has and the baby still months away from being born. She knows, rationally, that she'll probably have more money now without him stealing it and spending it, and God knows he didn't contribute any himself or watch their son while she was working or anything even remotely helpful.

But even knowing all of that, she can't help but be terrified that now she has to do this _all by herself_, and she's scared and tired and her feet hurt and she has to pee every six minutes, and the only people who notice and are willing to lend a sympathetic ear are the Berry's, the gay couple from across town that she sees at temple.

But eight year old Noah and Rachel don't know any of this. All they know is that Mom and Dad and Daddy need to talk about adult things, so why don't you two go play in Rachel's room? She has plenty of things to keep you entertained.

So they end up in Rachel's room, and Noah just stares, because his room is _never_ this clean, not even when his mom yells and yells and then does it herself. Rachel doesn't notice this, though, because she's already talking.

"I have a wide variety of fun and educational toys, games, and videos. I'm sure we can find something that appeals to you."

Now he's staring at her.

"What?"

"You talk weird," he says, scrunching up his nose.

She puts her tiny hands on her tiny hips and glares at him. "I do _not_ talk weird. I talk like an adult. If I am going to grow up to become a world famous triple threat I need to be mature, poised, and polished. It's best to start early."

Noah frowns. He has no idea what a triple threat is, and doesn't really care. He doesn't say that, though, because he thinks this girl might yell at him if he did. "I dunno. I like being a kid."

Rachel starts to respond, but he's not listening, his attention caught by the shiny DVD case by her TV. "You have _Shrek_?! Sweet!" He's surprised that Rachel has such a cool movie.

"Why wouldn't I? It was very well received by the critics, and quite amusing, and my dads said that there were more jokes that I'll understand when I'm older, and—"

"Whatever," Noah interrupts. "Can we watch the movie now?"

They do. Noah laughs at all the funny parts, and Rachel sings along with all the songs, even the sad one near the end, which makes him feel all warm inside because this girl might be kind of crazy, but her voice is really pretty.

When the credits roll Noah's already bored, ready for something else to do, but Rachel's still sitting there, eyes on the screen. She rests her chin on her hands and looks his way, measured and calculating. "You're going to be a prince when you grow up," she declares.

Noah doesn't blink, because they're at that age where "prince" is still a possible future occupation. "I dunno. I'd rather be a pirate. Oh! Or a ninja." He stares off into space, dreaming happily of nunchucks and throwing stars.

"No, a prince," she insists, and Noah thinks that maybe that would be okay, if he got a cool castle with a dungeon and everything. But he doesn't have long to ponder this, because Rachel's still talking (Rachel talks a _lot_, he's beginning to realize).

"You'll be a prince, and I'll be the princess, and we'll get married and live happily ever after." She nods once, satisfied with her declaration.

Noah looks at her with all the horror an eight year old terrified of girls and cooties and _girls_ can muster. "Eeeeewwwwww! No way! That's never gonna happen!"

Rachel shakes her head. "It will. I've never told anyone this, but I'm actually a little psychic. Sometimes I know who's calling before my dads answer the phone—or even before the phone rings! I know what I'm talking about—we're going to get married. I can feel it."

It's at this point that Mrs. Puckerman calls up the stairs. "Noah! Time to go!"

He jumps up at once, grateful to be leaving this _crazy_ girl and her too clean room. "That's never gonna happen!" Noah repeats, emphatically. "I know it's not! In fact, I'm never even gonna _talk_ to you again! So there!"

He rushes out of the room, but Rachel doesn't watch him leave. She just stares out into the middle-distance, a small, knowing smile on her face.

"I highly doubt that."


End file.
